


always on the hunt for a little more time

by hesperides



Series: entre la nuit, la nuit et l’aurore [3]
Category: K (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Blood, Face-Fucking, M/M, Oral Sex, Shotgunning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-21
Updated: 2016-02-21
Packaged: 2018-05-22 09:30:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6074074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hesperides/pseuds/hesperides
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mikoto leans in again, huffing an amused breath out against Izumo's cheek. "You complaining about my 'services' now?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	always on the hunt for a little more time

**Author's Note:**

> Technically a "deleted scene" from my other fic, but not it's not required you read it to understand this! Just know they're both vampires because mumble mumble and you're good to go.

As much shit as he gives Mikoto for smoking indoors, Izumo finds his own hands expertly searching out the pack of cigarettes hidden inside of his jacket as the radio silence from the other end of his call drones unceasingly on into the shell of his ear. He's a patient sort, especially when it comes to business, but the difference between chatting up insider traders and the local health inspector's office is an entire world, and one that he currently finds himself tragically slipping into.

He carefully maneuvers his cell phone onto his shoulder, dropping his head to the side to hold it there, freeing up his other hand, which immediately goes to retrieve his lighter from his pants pocket. The quiet flick of the flint sparking syncs up almost perfectly with the kitchen door swinging open, and Izumo doesn't even bother glancing up to check who it is— there's only one other person in the building, and he'd recognize the tempo of that lazy, loping gait anywhere.

Mikoto's managed to rouse himself, miracle of miracles, though the foul mood that's been hanging around him is still more than palpable, underlined in the tired set of his eyes and heavy slouch of his spine. Izumo had greeted him earlier, only to be met with nothing but a sour expression, so he doesn't bother repeating himself now. He's long grown accustomed to dealing with Mikoto in his little bouts of ennui— leaving him alone to stew it out is as good a course as any, and Izumo reminds himself that he's got more pressing matters to attend to than his friend's pissy attitude.

He doesn't expect the hand reaching out to grab at his wrist as he moves to slide the pack back into place, even though he really should. His own cigarette is already firmly in the corner of his mouth, the steadily burning scent of tobacco rising up between them, a tiny spot of warmth in the relative chill of the room.

"The stores are open, you know. I'm sure you can fend for yourself." It's supposed to be teasing, but Izumo finds his annoyance coming through clearer than anything, a certain bite in his words he didn't fully intend to display.

Mikoto releases his hand all the same, the deepening line of his frown the only response he can muster. A prerecorded voice echoing into his ear reminds him that he's still on wait, and that the agency closes within the hour, is he sure he wouldn't like to try back another time?

" _Yes_ ," he snaps clearly into the receiver, the same gratingly friendly statement of his place in line repeated back to him as soon as it registers his answer. He was smart enough not to plan anything especially important until later, but there's still nothing else in the world that tries his nerves quite like low level government customer service.

He takes a deep drag on his cigarette, bringing one hand up to properly hold his cell again while the other goes to cradle the cylinder between two fingers, pulling it out of the way and exhaling a long breath of curling smoke—

Well, the smoke never actually manages to get all that far. Mikoto leans into his view, sudden and inhuman-quick, opening his mouth bare inches from Izumo's lips to catch it in his own, stealing his nicotine-laden breath away with a sharp inhale of his own.

"You are the _worst_ ," Izumo's initial surprise is almost immediately replaced by annoyance, Mikoto still bare centimeters from being right on top of him. Mikoto only hums in low agreement, a corner of his mouth twitching up as Izumo jerks the hand holding the cigarette back and away, easily dodging the lazy swipe he makes to snatch it. "I bet you're not even out."

"S'upstairs."

"Of course."

Mikoto only sighs, letting his shoulder slump further in apparent defeat as Izumo continues to regard him with a disdain he's fighting not to let his mild amusement seep into. He can't even bring himself to be surprised by this kind of behavior anymore— it's all old hat, just another symptom of Mikoto's momentary (but ever reoccurring) displeasure with the world. It's so very typical, so very _Mikoto_ , that Izumo just stares blithely on, letting the cigarette slowly burn itself down until the other man submits wordlessly, letting his head fall down against Izumo's shoulder, his whole body sagging silently against him in defeat.

Izumo can already feel the token chide about what a lazy asshole he is forming, having a whole list he keeps in stock in his mind for just such occasions, but a real live person picks that exact moment to bother with answering his call, so he holds it in for later.

"Hello? Yes, it was no trouble. This is Kusanagi Izumo, I called on Tuesday and spoke to Okabe-san," though it's not quite as easy to dazzle his way through conversations without use of certain abilities, Izumo likes to think his natural skills are more than enough to get him what he wants in this case.

He falls easily into the rhythm of the conversation, his thoughts moving from the small backroom kitchen to the topic at hand. Even with Mikoto quite literally right on top of him, with his focus elsewhere, he doesn't immediately notice the small telltale movements he starts to make, a single golden eye cracking open and sweeping down his face before settling on the pale skin of his neck.

Izumo really owes it to himself to be more vigilant when Mikoto's this close. The only warning he gets is a soft breath against his neck before he feels teeth— two razor sharp canines, sinking into his skin and puncturing the flesh. It draws a surprised groan from his mouth, making him trip over his words midsentence, cutting an inquiry about temperature requirements off into something like a guttural growl.

It looks more alarming than it actually is; well, at least for most people. Even among vampires it's seen as more intimate than anything, a sign of complete trust. For Suoh Mikoto, it mostly falls under the category of being a little shit.

"Sorry, what were you saying? My cat knocked something over," a poker voice is easier to maintain than a face, at least for Izumo, as he brings down an elbow sharply on top of Mikoto's skull, barely missing a beat in the conversation. It only makes Mikoto bite down harder, swiping a tongue deftly over the skin. The wound is only bleeding lazily, and he makes no effort to urge it along any further, so Izumo _knows_ he's just doing this to get a rise out of him. "But yeah, if I could schedule an appointment for that now, that'd be great."

He keeps his elbow there even has he drops his hand back to his mouth, effectively using Mikoto's head as armrest as the secretary rattles off available times to him. Checking his phone calendar would be the smart thing to do, but he doesn't want to perform another juggling act, especially while Mikoto's feeling mouthy, so he picks a date the following week that seems safe and bids the nice woman a fond farewell, grinding his elbow down as his thumbs hits the end-call button.

Mikoto doesn't make any immediate move to detach, of course, leaving Izumo left standing with a quickly dying cigarette he barely got to smoke and red-headed lamprey stuck to the side of his neck. He could remove him by force— that's probably what he's angling for, an easy confrontation he can use as an excuse to let off some steam, but Izumo isn't in the mood. It's the oldest trick in Mikoto's depressingly short book, but he doesn't feel like playing along tonight.

He drops the cigarette, snuffing it out under his heel (an unforgivable offense if anyone else were to commit it, but he's having the floors redone later this month anyway.) Fast enough so Mikoto doesn't have a whole lot of time to react, he hooks his thumb in the slightly open corner of the other man's mouth and pulls _hard_ , more than enough to tear open human skin like paper, but Mikoto hasn't been that delicate for a few decades. 

The pressure increases for a second, but another sharp tug finds Mikoto's jaw loosening and allowing his head to pulled away, nipping at Izumo's thumb in retaliation before it's removed from biting range.

"Morning, sunshine," Izumo's smile is pointedly pinched as he speaks, Mikoto still not moving to fully disentangle himself as he lets out an exaggerated yawn. "Is there something you wanna talk about?"

It's more than a little sad that he fully intends it as a joke, and the scowl he receives for it only solidifies it as such, but what can you do. He raises his hand again, moving the wipe the tiny smear of blood sitting tellingly at the corner of Mikoto's mouth away, only to be beaten to the punch by Mikoto's tongue, swiping out to lick along the pad of Izumo's thumb while it's there.

"You're taking the cat thing seriously again, I see."

"You started it."

"The connection was beginning to be made," Mikoto gives a throaty chuckle at that, still too close for Izumo not to feel it, but it's a more encouraging response than another one of his sullen stares."Though, a real cat would probably cause less of a mess."

"You'd miss me."

"And all the illustrious services your provide?" It's out of his mouth before Izumo can think too much about the implications of it, though the lazy smile that blooms across Mikoto's face spells out everything he only thought about a second too late.

Mikoto leans in again, huffing an amused breath out against Izumo's cheek. "You complaining about my 'services' now?"

Kusanagi just laughs it off, ignoring any tightness in his throat. "You know that's not what I meant."

He knows Mikoto's about to insist otherwise, but droning buzz of his cellphone cuts through the suddenly charged air, vibrating sharply against the counter where he left it.

Mikoto frowns. "Don't—" Izumo ignores him, of course, automatically reaching over to tilt towards him, so he can see if it's anyone his caller ID recognizes.

"I need to take this," Izumo picks it up with one hand while the other goes to Mikoto's shoulder, giving him a gentle push back. He _can_ take a call while his friend's practically in breathing space, but it's not his preferred mode of navigating business conversations. Mikoto moves, at least a little, so he deems it safe, hitting the accept call button and holding the phone up to his ear. "Hello, Kusanagi here."

He isn't paying attention to Mikoto so acutely after that, his focus turning to what new road block the document forger he's been playing phone tag with for the last couple of days has run into now. It's always something with this guy, and Izumo's at the point of regretting ever hiring him. He's only paid him forty percent of estimation he originally gave him (after haggling, obviously) and if he can't even a decent birth certificate in a couple of weeks—

The sound of his zipper being pulled down is the first thing that alerts him, somehow, the weight of a hand settling onto his hip only coming after that being the clear giveaway. Izumo didn't notice when Mikoto crouched down, settling onto his knees in front of him, having been too focused on trying not to verbally abuse the forger on the other end of the line. But he notices _now_ , one of his own hands shooting out to deliberately shove Mikoto's face away even as the other man's palm slides inside of his pants, pressing firmly against his crotch.

He wants to yell at him, something along the lines of what part of 'I need to take this' does he not understand? He wants to punch that smug smile that's settled oh so naturally on Mikoto's face right off it, but he doesn't. Izumo already knows the kind of response he'll get, and the forger is asking him what kind of timeline he's on for these items now, and he _really_ should respond to that or just hang up.

"I needed them three days ago. Am I actually going to get my money's worth out of you if I give you another three?" He grinds it out in a way so laced with venom he can practically see the guy tugging at his collar nervously on the other end, but it's really to mask the way his throat's gone dry from Mikoto palming his cock roughly through the fabric of his briefs. He's almost as mad at himself for starting to get hard as he as at Mikoto for doing this in the first place, but the latter always wins out.

If he notices Izumo's sharp intake of breath when Mikoto finally pulls the fabric down and away to slide his hand down to the base of his length he doesn't say anything, rattling off a list of excuses that would normally just make him even more irritated. As it is he's far more concerned with the way Mikoto's licking his lips as squeezes his fist around his cock and how it's making his hearing go a little fuzzy.

This entire situation is ridiculous and aggravating and _entirely_ Mikoto's fault, the same as it always is, and his dumb insistence to drag Izumo along kicking and screaming for the ride. He knows how this goes— whatever's gotten into him isn't going to pass until he gets his way or gets the shit beaten out of him. Izumo just needs to pick one and get this over with, and as Mikoto lets out a heavy breath over the head of his cock, the incessant thrumming of his nerves makes the decision for him.

"Get it done. If they're not ready when I come to pick them up on Monday, you're going to regret it." He doesn't wait to hear the response, thumb slamming down to end the call while the forger's still mid-squawk. Mikoto's mouth is still hovering within tantalizingly inches from his dick, and Izumo's officially had enough of it. The hand resting near Mikoto's head goes to tangle into his hair, nails biting into his scalp with enough force to break the skin and Mikoto just _laughs_ , low and throaty and completely victorious, even as Izumo uses the leverage to pull that mouth down and onto him.

It's both a relief and a further frustration. Mikoto knows what he likes, has done this more times than either of them can bother to count anymore, and that lazy confidence translates to his movements. He takes in as much as he can with one deep bob of his head, tongue dragging along the shaft while he keeps his teeth mercifully in check. Mikoto moves, but it's all slow, lazy like he has all the time in the world to do this now, his insistence of a few seconds ago all but forgotten. Hence the irritation. 

Izumo expects this, though, and as soon as he sees him pulling up he pushes him back down, careless of how comfortable that must be for Mikoto. He checked any privileges to complain about rough treatment when he shoved a hand down Izumo's pants during the middle of a business call. The low growl that vibrates up his throat and makes Izumo's toe curl isn't a warning, but an encouragement, and he drags him back by the hair as soon as hears it, holding him there before thrusting up and into his mouth.

Mikoto's grip on his hip is white knuckled now as he just holds him in place and fucks into his mouth. He doesn't need to breath, hasn't for years, but the habit of taking deep, shuddering breaths in lieu of much noise comes back to him now as Mikoto matches it with rumbling groans and growls that crawl up from his chest and vibrate against him, making every thrust into the wetness of his mouth just that much more gratifying.

They're not naturally warm creatures, but there's no other way to describe the feeling that curls its way down Izumo's back and settles into the pit of his stomach, a heat that builds with each thrust of his hips and makes the steadying breaths he takes erratic and uneven. He thinks Mikoto must know he's getting close because he starts angling his head to take him deeper with each stroke, all the noises coming from his throat completely animal and encouraging.

He only lasts a few more desperate strokes before his orgasm rips through him, knees hitting Mikoto's chest as he leans over onto him and lets out a long, unguarded groan. Mikoto holds him up, staying steady on the floor and supporting his weight wordlessly, the only sound he makes a heavy swallow when Izumo finally pulls out, letting his back hit the countertop again.

His limbs are all heavy, and he's certainly relaxed in a way that he wasn't before, but the look of utter smugness that's settled into the lines of Mikoto's mouth cuts clear even through Izumo's post-orgasm haze. He still wants to punch him, probably _should_ punch him, if only to teach him a lesson about appropriate conduct while another person is on the damn phone. His fists still stay hanging at his sides, and he settles for giving him a look that's about as withering as he can manage in his current state.

"Are you done?"

He can practically hear the smirk as Mikoto answers. "That depends."

Izumo decides to settle for aiming a good kick at his side, Mikoto only shifting out of the way half a second too late to miss it entirely and catching a good bit of his heel right between his ribs. It's half the momentum from the kick and half his own surprise that sends him tipping over, his elbow hitting the tile to keep him at least partially upright.

"That a no?" He practically glowers up at him, and Izumo has to fight to keep his lips from twitching up.

"Let me think about it."

**Author's Note:**

> shows up three weeks late with starbucks and blow jobs


End file.
